


By The Jukebox

by Natashasolten



Category: Twin Peaks, Wiseguy
Genre: Crossover, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:43:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natashasolten/pseuds/Natashasolten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After electrocuting himself, Sonny finds himself in a weird dream-place with funky jazzy music playing in the background where he meets Special Agent Dale Cooper, Bob and himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By The Jukebox

When Sonny Steelgrave woke he found himself lying on a strange black couch not remembering how he’d gotten there. Had he been drinking? The curtained walls were red. The floor black and white checkered. Was this a whorehouse?

There was a strange white marble statue in the corner of the room. And nothing else. Just red curtains and an empty room. And him, feeling kinda woozy. He sat up.

He listened hard, trying to figure out where he was, trying to remember. Distantly, he heard music, almost jazzy, slow and kinda eerie. He scowled at that. Finally, he got up and went to one of the curtains. He parted it and moved into the hidden space.

Well, there was just more of the room. Black and white checked floor, another couch…maybe its doppelganger…and another statue. Only this room seemed bigger. And there was something else. In the corner stood a jukebox. He walked over to it and looked at it. What the fuck?

He looked at the play buttons, and the turntable inside the glass compartment. And then he looked at the selections. There were about a hundred selections. And they were all the same song. That song.

Fuck!

He turned away, hands rubbing his eyes. Ok, this had to be a dream. One of those weird dreams where you get all twisted and lost inside the rooms of a house and you just want to wake up. He tried to wake up, willed it with all his might. But he still found himself standing in the middle of the room with the fucked up jukebox and more of that distant sort of irritating saxophone music.

He turned around and around, looking for another way out other than through the same red curtains. As he thought about his escape, the curtains wavered as if in a breeze, although Sonny felt no wind. A shadowy figure seemed to merge with the curtains, then form into a man. The man wore a nice black suit. His dark brown hair was slicked back. He looked almost as perplexed as Sonny felt, but there was an odd serenity surrounding him, something Sonny had never experienced inside himself.

Well, maybe this guy knew something. Sonny moved toward him. “Who’re you?” His voice came out almost garbled, but the man seemed to understand.

“Dale,” he replied in a funny tone.

“But who are you?”

“I’m a Federal agent.”

Sonny balked, took a heavy step back. “Another one?”

Dale looked at him hard, almost frowning. Then he said, as though talking around a numb tongue, “You must take what he offers.”

“What the…?”

But the agent interrupted him, nodding once. “You must take it.”

“Are you crazy?” Sonny was scowling. “Take what?”

The other man moved toward him and Sonny was so shocked at his strangeness that he felt frozen in place. The Dale guy leaned into him so close that Sonny could smell his spiced cologne. He whispered softly in Sonny’s ear, “That man with the sad blue eyes is here.”

“Huh?”

But as he turned to question him, Dale was gone as if he’d never even been there.

Suddenly, Sonny heard a noise, like breathing. He smelled an abrupt whiff of ozone. He spun in an automatic defensive posture.

Christ! Someone else had come into the room without him seeing it. This person sat on the floor with his back to him, leaning against the side of the jukebox. The blue, red, pink and yellow lights of the jukebox base flashed and flickered around him. This person was dressed just like Sonny, in an Armani tux, only the jacket was black while Sonny’s was white. This person had glossy black hair. Fuck!

For a moment Sonny just stood there. Then he thought, I’m dreaming so what the hell.

He walked over to Vinnie. He kicked him in the side to get his attention. “Hey!”

Vinnie turned to look at him. He said in a very weird voice…and well, everyone here seemed to talk in a funny voice, so that might be expected… “Do you like my mask?”

Sonny, always up for a challenge, said, “I fucking hate your mask.” And again his own voice sounded kinda strange.

Vinnie said, “Who am I?” The words were sticky, slow.

Sonny said, “Did I ever know? Why are ya asking me?”

Vinnie said, “If you want a soul, you can have mine.”

This was just too odd of a conversation. Sonny turned away, making his hands into fists. When was he gonna wake up, dammit!

Just then a strange man walked in. He was kinda crazy looking in the eyes and had wild long gray hair. He walked straight over to Vinnie, bent down and touched him on the chest. Vinnie screamed as the man danced away.

“Hey!” Sonny ran and tackled the guy. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The crazy man bent his head back and howled like a maniac, like a wild dog. His hand, where he’d touched Vinnie, was red. Sonny punched him hard in the face and the guy went flying. Not caring where the guy landed, he turned and went to Vinnie, kneeling beside him. Vinnie’s white shirt was covered in blood where the guy had touched his chest.

“What’d he do to you?” he asked, feeling like everything was moving way too slow.

Vinnie seemed to be having trouble breathing. One hand went to his shirt, clutching, and he brought it away wet with red. Sonny reached out to steady him. “We gotta get you outta here.”

Vinnie said, “No one gets out of here alive,” in that strange voice again.

“Yeah, whatever,” Sonny replied. “Can you stand?”

Vinnie did not even try. Instead, he grabbed Sonny by the front of his shirt with a kind of dream strength…well this was a dream, right? … and he said, “Please don’t let Bob get it. I’d rather give it to you.”

“Who’s Bob?” But he knew. He knew. The crazy guy was gone now, but Vinnie seemed to be afraid he’d come back.

Vinnie still had hold of the front of Sonny’s shirt. His fist knocked strangely against Sonny’s chest. “Please take it. Take it.”

“Why would I do that?”

The conversation was not only weird, but hard to understand. Their voices were muffled and strange, like they were drunk only worse.

“Because I can’t keep it safe anymore. He’ll take it from me. But he won’t take it from you.”

Sonny tried to comprehend, but it made no sense. He looked at Vinnie. He tried to remember why they might be here, and then he reminded himself again that it was a dream. Only a dream. Vinnie looked very young. He hair was slicker than usual, with one clump of black shadowing the middle of his forehead, and his eyes so blue it was like gazing into a midday sky. The skin on his face was tan and evenly smooth so it almost looked fake. He was fucking gorgeous, but he looked so sad, and all of a sudden Sonny felt the ungodly urge to kiss him.

Vinnie just blinked and waited like some kind of virgin sacrifice or something.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him. Sonny turned. And he saw himself coming through the side of the red curtain. The self he saw was a twin to him, but he was all beaten up, battered, bruised. He was missing the white tux jacket. There was blood on his white shirt. The twin Sonny started to laugh when he saw them. It was a high pitched and strange sound. “I love it, man,” he said, in that strangely garbled dream-talk.

Sonny frowned. “You got it wrong!” he shouted. “All wrong!” His voice wavered and stuttered, almost as if he were speaking another language. He remembered saying something just like what that other Sonny said. Well almost. And he remembered saying it to Vinnie. It made him mad that this battered guy got it so wrong and seemed to be making fun of them.

“Sonny,” Vinnie said from beside him. “Please.” His fist was still at Sonny’s shirtfront. It rubbed against his chest.

“He got it wrong. All wrong,” Sonny hissed slowly. It pissed him off. He said to Vinnie, “Stop that,” and pushed his fist away from his chest.

Vinnie groaned, then grabbed at his shirt again. Again Sonny pushed his hand away. “Stop!”

Vinnie said, earnestly, “Please!” And Sonny felt Vinnie’s breath on his face as he said it. It was hot. It was close. It was Vinnie.

Sonny felt sudden and intense pain, but not physical. Vinnie, he thought. You were the best friend I ever had. Jesus! “What do I do?”

As he said those words, the crazy guy walked in again and howled. It was awful, this nightmare. Fucking nuts.

Vinnie answered. “Take it. Keep it safe.”

Bob approached slowly, grinning like some kind of insane devil.

Sonny turned away from the ghoul and clutched Vinnie, whose shirt was becoming more and more bloodsoaked. “I don’t know what to do!” It came out slow and stilted.

Vinnie looked up at him again. That look. Sonny could not ever say no to that look. How could he forget? The stupid battered twin version of himself had gotten it wrong. All wrong. Like he didn’t remember what he said. Like he would forget something like that!

Vinnie said, “He’s right behind you.”

“I don’t care,” Sonny replied slowly.

“Sonny!”

Sonny said, “Shut up. I love you. That’s what I fucking said. I love you, man.” His eyes burned.

There was blood on the edge of Vinnie’s mouth now. Sonny didn’t care. It was just a dream, right? He felt Vinnie’s fist move against his chest again. He didn’t shove him away this time. Instead, he slowly leaned down, next to the jukebox, on the cold black and white checkered floor, in front of Bob, in front of that fucking stupid statue, and pulled Vinnie tight to him and kissed him. He heard howls. He heard screams. He heard a loud bang.

The room vanished and he was lying on a floor somewhere else, somewhere cold and shadowy. But there was a warmth. It was all around him. He was on the floor but someone was right beside him. Someone’s fist was pounding his chest. Someone was touching his mouth with hot, close breath. And where they touched he felt warm. He felt whole.

A voice said, “Stop. He’s breathing. Just stop, Vince.”

Sonny felt arms tighten around him and lift his upper body onto a soft lap. Another voice said, “Sonny. Dammit, Sonny!”

With difficulty, Sonny opened his eyes. And there was Vinnie looking down at him with such anguish. He was different from the guy in the dream, but also the same. His face was battered and bruised, but behind all that he was still Vinnie. And there was no mask. And no more secrets. Why did either of them ever think it mattered anyway? When he could just look into that blue gaze and see the truth?

He tried to speak but it was like his mouth was filled with cotton. “Vinnie? Are you all right?”

“Wh…what?” The face took on a look of complete incomprehension.

“I got it,” he said, feeling woozy. He smelled ozone again, maybe even burning hair. Why couldn’t he move?

“Got what?” Vinnie said softly, and tears started to drop out of his eyes like a strange sad rain.

Sonny frowned. He could’ve sworn he saw an owl with big gold eyes just now standing on Vinnie’s head. Then it was gone. He blinked. He didn’t say anything more about the soul. He just said, hoping Vinnie would stop raining on him, “You’ll be okay. It’ll all be okay now.”

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Author note: I always thought Vinnie didn’t try hard enough to revive Sonny, maybe because he knew Sonny really did not want to live, or because even if he got him breathing again who’s to say Sonny wouldn’t be a vegetable? But still, I thought he would be pounding on that guy’s chest, pushing the paramedics away until the cows came home or Sonny breathed, take your pick.
> 
> And well, I always thought that if Sonny ever ended up in the Black Lodge, he’d be a contender. He’d not give a flying fuck who or what the Black Lodge was, so watch out. And while Sonny is allowed to beat up Vinnie, no one else is, so if anyone else ever tried to hurt ‘his Vinnie,’ they’d have to go through Sonny first. Bob wouldn’t stand a chance, especially if true love is one of the weapons.
> 
> If you like Natasha Solten's writing, you might enjoy her m/m romance "The Foundling" on Kindle under her non-fanfic name: Wendy Rathbone. Thanks for reading!


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